The Daily Grind
by Phelan
Summary: Another typical day for the Chosen One. Violence, some language.


Hmph, bandits never learn, do they. Ah well, it's fun to teach them their last lesson. I stepped out of the rusty Highwayman, as Vic shot me a quick look from his seat. I signaled him to stay put, and he reached into the back seat. I calmly rearranged my combat armor, brushing off some dust to give them time to say the inevitable "Give me all your loot" speech. Really, I have more important things to do. But I wait. They seem unsure though; I act differently than their usual victims.  
  
"Let me guess, you want me to surrender, give you my cash, guns and car, right?" Patience is a virtue, but I've had it with this crap. The largest one, packing a decent hunting rifle, blinks before nodding and pointing his rifle at Vic.  
  
"Get yer friend outta the car, slowly."  
  
"Nah, He likes it there." A small grin, just to make 'em mad.  
  
"I said, get him out." He aims at my head, trying to intimidate. I yawn, then shake my head no.  
  
"Fine, we'll just take yer stuff after we kill ya."  
  
I drop into a crouch and draw my favorite, the .223 pistol I *always* carry. The thug fires over my head, and I fire back, hitting him in the inner thigh. I studied anatomy at Vault City for a good reason; the femoral artery is just a wonderful way of killing. He dropped, already consigned to death but still fighting. He had about thirty seconds, I guessed. Vic sat in the car, shaking his head as he watched the display. I dodged to the left, seeking hard cover as I fired at the four bandits left. Two went down, one from a nasty chest wound, the other trying to plug the hole in his neck. The other two threw themselves to the ground, and were ready to shoot as I got behind a crumbling brick wall. I pulled a spare mag from my pouch, and stuffed the empty clip in another pocket. Drawing my other .223, I stuck the barrels around the corner and sprayed the area. Hearing a shout of pain, I smiled and pulled back from the corner. Reloading again, I raced down the wall to the other end, bringing up my left hand and scanning for the enemy. The fourth bandit was down, writhing in agony and clutching his stomach. Idiot musta run right into it. I couldn't see the last one, since there was enough scrub grass for him to disappear in. I crouched and ran for the car, Vic still sitting with a smile on his face. He saw me coming, and opened his door and got out, drawing that modified Desert Eagle I got for him. He leveled it in my direction, and fired once. I *felt* that bullet pass right over my head, heard it howl less than half a foot from my cranium. Since he didn't fire again, I stood up and turned around. The last bandit was facedown, having come around the wall after me. I could see the mess that .44 had made from here. I holstered my pistols as Vic began to chuckle in that way that kinda creeped me out.  
  
"You're sick, you know that? You just had to have fun with them, didn't you?"  
  
"Bet your ass, Vic. C'mon, lets see what the selection is."  
  
He trudged over to me, and we began looting the corpses. This group was among the worst I'd seen in a long time. Bunch of 10mm pistols, the hunting rifle, and a very small bag of coins. Ah well, at least the guns were worth something. I stripped the ammo from the rifle and refilled some of the clips for my pistols. The guns looked rather pathetic when thrown in with the arsenal we had in the trunk. Vic dug through several boxes before finding his precious .44 ammo, and topped of the clip in his gun.  
  
"Will you stop burying my stuff so deep?!"  
  
"Only if you get rid of that damned .44! Why can't you use something more practical, like that G11e I got for you?"  
  
"Then why don't *you* get rid of those dinky pistols of *yours* and use that minigun you're always fondling?"  
  
"'Cause bandits aren't worth wasting a couple hundred rounds on, and the .223 ammo is what we have the most of!"  
  
"Well, we're kinda low on caseless rounds, too."  
  
"Then use the frickin' assault rifle! I don't care. That .44 is older than either of us, and it's gonna break one of these days. Remember you've already gone through three firing pins and a spring!"  
  
"Yeah, and when it does die, *then* I'll use a different gun."  
  
"Ugh, this isn't going anywhere. Alright, if you want, keep your ammo in the glovebox. Put the grenades in the trunk, and make sure they're safe! I don't wanna have to walk all over all of creation because *you* blew up the car!"  
  
"Gee, thanks. Oh, is the rocket launcher tied down alright? I heard something rattling when we pulled up."  
  
"I'll check it, you take care of the grenades. Just don't try to carry them all at once; you saw what happened to that thief outside of the NCR, right?"  
  
"Oh yeah, I think the people in Vault City heard that one!"  
  
Still laughing, I checked the straps that held both our rocket launcher and my Avenger minigun to the roof. He was right, and after retying the knots, I settled back into my seat. I heard Vic slam the trunk, then watched as he climbed back in. He thrust his box of ammo into the glove compartment, shut it, and made himself comfortable. He began to snore as we pulled away, still looking for Vault 15. 


End file.
